


One, Two, Three

by CharismaticEnticer



Series: Willingness (Counting!Verse) [1]
Category: Die Anstalt
Genre: Colors, Doctor/Patient, Dream Sex, F/M, Frottage, I'm lucky AO3 allows me to format it like this, Implied sort of masturbation but not, Internalized Misogyny, Loss of Coherency, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Otherwise this fic would have been nigh-on impossible to post, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Present Tense, Pseudo Doctor/Patient, Secret Sex, Self-"Slut Shaming", Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, Sexual Experimentation, Simultaneous Orgasm, Three POVS, Threesome - F/M/M, Unconventional Style, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharismaticEnticer/pseuds/CharismaticEnticer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is dark outside, way past any of their bedtimes. Five patients and a doctor do a little exploration at the same time, unaware of the others. They do not discover things about themselves, but rather reiterate what they already knew.</p><p>WARNING: NSFW, albeit in a "the actions aren't as important as the emotions therein" sort of way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One, Two, Three

**Author's Note:**

> Rule 34. "If it exists, there will invariably be porn of it." You can't escape it, you can't deny it, and if you're the only one writing fic for a fandom, it's almost your duty to propagate it. Hence, this fic, originally written mostly to prove to myself that I **could** write NSFW fic with stuffed toys.  
> ...Don't look at me like that. There is precedent for toys having sexual urges in canon. (Sly's "repressed libido", anyone?) Besides, I'm far from the only one; there's NSFW Toy Story fic between the toys on this very site.
> 
> This fic is formatted rather... unconventionally. There are three smaller stories being told alongside each other that connect at various points and phrases. I added lines to the table to make it all easier to read, but if you're still confused, message me and I'll clarify. Sly's story is in the left column; Dolly's, in the middle; Dr Wood's, to the right.
> 
> Originally written and published on February 28th 2012, a day before my real birthday. 
> 
> Die Anstalt © Martin Kittsteiner.

**COLORS**

| 

**CHOICES**

| 

**COHERENCY**  
  
---|---|---  
Sly likes to think of himself in terms of the colors he feels. He remembers hearing somewhere in the fuzzy memory that emotions are scary and confusing, and those are things he doesn't like to be. Colors are easy to figure out, so he feels things in them, and he feels less stupid for it. | Dolly likes to think of herself as a mature, grown-up individual. But she falls on the one stumbling block most mature people handle with ease: making decisions without getting lost. And, ironically, she holds close the one stumbling block they seem to struggle with. The concept of monogamy. | Dr Wood likes to think of himself as several things. Clever. Above moral dilemmas. One who appreciates depths, not just the superficial. Sensible enough to not become involved with a patient. Sensible enough to not fall in love in the first place.  
So the colors he feels around the therapist | So those moments with Kroko and/or Lilo | So his one on one sessions with Dub  
  
are becoming increasingly  
  
---  
vibrant. | muddled. | hypocritical.  
---|---|---  
He feels green around her, and green is happy. He is green most of the time, on the outside and on the inside, except for when the colors are flickering around his tail. When she talks to him, tells him what day it is and what they are going to do with it, the color becomes brighter until it shines from her and makes him touch her with his tongue to confirm she really exists. | The growly scratch voice in the back of her mind has always whispered vile things to her, but it almost relishes this particular confusion. It calls her a beast, a cocktease, a succubus, a list of words she clearly didn't pick up from her stint as kindergarten fodder. Her insides would boil as the words sting her...if she didn't believe them sometimes. | Not shallow? Hardly, when any depths seem to fade and blister both at once in favor of the immediate during the inevitable. Personality pales in the light of how intense his kisses are for someone so new to this, how rough his touch, how close his heartbeat, how goddamn beautiful he is when he runs a hand through his hood and pulls him nearer like this, yes, yes.  
He feels blue without her, and blue is sad. He doesn't like that part, it makes his tail droop and his heart beat slower, and he needs it to go fast superfast to match what he sees and wants to feel. But going back to her is usually all it takes to make him happy again. | She has Kroko on the one hand, or cotton hoof in this case. Poor Kroko, hiding in his blanket from the sight of a shadow, shivering at the sound of rain. But he gives so much and asks for so little. His hugs warm them both up, and when she's with him she can, for a time, forget her own demons. | Morally superior? Yes and no. Dub is a patient, Wood a psychologist, above him in every sense. So why is Dub moving up in the hierarchy, as good as it feels for him to move up, pull away and trace up his chest, his spine? Why is Wood putting his career at risk for the sake of something supposedly inferior?  
He feels a whole priasma of colors, whatever a priasma is, he might have heard it or maybe not. He feels pink, pink is bouncy and excited. He feels a lighter blue, not sad this time but cold until he rubs against her to make himself orange, warm. He feels yellow when the creatures return. | Lilo is the other side of the coin. Cold where the other is needy, unresponsive, and if anything further fuel for her inadequacies to burn when she cannot help him or vice versa. But quiet where the other is frantic, not sharing as much, but what he can give means a lot coming from him. | Clever? Absolutely. Brilliant, even. But not like this. He loses grasp on words like this, not that he can speak any of them into Dub's mouth, eager on his own once more, no tongue to use but those hands are better, everywhere. He loses grasp on words and trains of thought, clever, but not in the right place.  
He feels red sometimes. Red is the hardest color for him to figure out. | Both of them like her, she thinks, and she likes them a lot. But which more so? | Willing to exercise self control? Not even that.  
Sometimes he thinks things when he is red that mix up matters. He can think hurtful ashamed thoughts that wonder why she sometimes doesn't let him touch her. He can think needy thoughts that compare her to a rattle, necessary. He can even think thoughts that make his tail twitch in a good way and send him away into daydreams, even when alone. | None. Both are equal. They balance each other out in terms of soul and mind. There is one term she hasn't tested out yet, but that is going to be solved soon, each preparing to do their bit. Lilo seems distracted in his uncertainty of this. Kroko is even more nervous, and shows. Dolly, to be honest, just hopes that only one will win. A mating ritual, but basic, but reversed. | He is a doctor, but also a raven, and the patient is a turtle. Turtles and ravens are animals deep down, stuffed and plush and soft, especially Dub, out of his shell now, wrapped around him with those legs, why does he say they're fat they're not, but animals nonetheless. Like it or not, even those of his calibre hear a certain call of the wild.  
He loses himself in one now, in his bed, | They succumb to this ritual now, in a cupboard, | They respond to the call now, in his office,  
  
away from therapy and in forbidden territory.  
  
---  
He pictures someone touching him back as he reaches out and it is her, talking and whispering things to him he hasn't heard her say. He imagines her moving down to his shaking silent rattle, wanting to touch it, examine it. He thinks he feels something rubbing against it and it is her, her mouth, squeezing it between the lips and pressing it and making it pulse and his head spin. He strokes it against the sensation and the redness returns and it is her, the red is his therapist, his, no one else's, his own to feel red and blue and green around, the world shakes a little. He flicks his tail and she presses harder around it and his whole body shivers stitching becomes liquid around him it is her, she is his, he is hers, she is brilliant perfect colorful colors **OH** |  Stage 1, kissing, first chaste base, one at a time, between, until the fabric doesn't know which way to lie. Stage 2, touching beyond hugs, Kroko stroking her ears in just the right direction, Lilo more unaware but more explorative, he tries to go for the zip, no stay away from that don't do that Lilo. No, no, it's okay, Kroko makes it better, kiss again, they refocus. Stage 3, closeness, they defocus, they begin to blur in the confusion, harder to tell who is who now, is it Kroko on her legs or Lilo, is it one in the small of her back or the other, is it both blending warm and cold to heatfrost? It's darker in here now quieter, she begins to lose herself as well as them, is past caring which is which or who wins no one wins no one loses mind soul body aaah **RIGHT THERE** |  Every millimetre of skin on display, every feather kissed stroked teased, every point of contact a new question and a new diversion from what is acceptable. But he comes to accept it, he has to with his feet curling as they rub up against each other, sensitive point against sensitive point, Dub against Wood. He tries to keep smart, mentally theorise why and how and what, but the theories tumble and the words go behind and only certain words remain, some vocalised some hidden. Keep doing that, yes again do the stroky thing, thing, so uneloquent but so fitting in the moment. Why do their bodies fit so exactly together, yes, why do the kisses merge seamlessly into this, yes, not a yes and no question but the answer is still always yes, yes Dub yes again more **MORE**  
---|---|---  
  
---  
_red and yellow and white and green and pink and aqua and orange and blue i can sing a rainbow sing a rainbow sing a rainbow too_ | _kroko-dolly-lilo-lilo-dolly-kroko-dolly-kroko-lilo-dolly-lilo-kroko-kroko-lilo-dolly-lilo-kroko-dolly_ | _and then a blissful moment of peace no words at all no thoughts free from that particular pleasure and burden_  
---|---|---  
  
and then the crash, and collapse,  
  
---  
and colors become muted, and the rubbing sensation turns out to be the quilt, and Sly is alone. | and one of them backs away, and the other trembles, and the cruel voice in her body calls her every variant of slut that it knows. | and of the two of them Dr Wood, as clever as he is, is usually the first to rediscover which direction is 'up'.  
---|---|---  
  
Deep down... |    
In the end... |    
Nonetheless...  
Sly knows that he isn't hers. Not here, not yet. | Dolly is no step closer to choosing between either of the boys. | Dr Wood likes to think of himself as several things. Above love? Yes.  
He rests his head on the pillow and stares at the rippling ceiling. Blue and red mix up to form a purple so deep it is almost black. | If anything she is one, two steps closer to dropping both of her stumbling blocks and practising polygamy. | Immune to such strong feelings as to give him a taste of the illusion? Not anymore.


End file.
